


The Needs of the Two

by iwasanartist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Camping, Dubious Consent, Early season 3, F/M, Pon Farr, beginnings of a ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13770765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwasanartist/pseuds/iwasanartist
Summary: Things don't go as expected when Trip and T'Pol get stuck overnight on an alien planet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I might have taken some liberties with the science of pon farr.

Trip carried the last crate into the cave and set it next to the others with a thump. As surprise camp outs went, this wasn't the worst. If you use the term camp out loosely.

They'd all landed on Besniq V that afternoon. They'd gotten a hot tip on a Xindi outpost, but when they got there, all they found was forest on top of more forest and a connection of caves that didn't seem to go anywhere. Trip and T’Pol were the last two members of the landing party to beam up when an ion storm moved in, scrambling bio data for the transporter. It wasn't safe to beam them back to the ship or send a shuttle down.

It wasn't so bad that Enterprise couldn't send some supplies to get them through the night while they sought shelter in a nearby cave, though. Trip heated beans on a small camp stove, pointedly leaving out the franks chef had sent down until he had his own bowl. They ate mostly in silence. It wasn't ideal circumstances, but Trip certainly thought they could have done a lot worse.

It wasn't until T'Pol started pacing the cave that he realized something was wrong. At first he thought she'd just been taking scans, not wanting to waste an opportunity to gather data. But then he noticed her scanner by the rest of their gear and the single line of footprints in the dirt. 

"You okay?" he called out to her. She stopped moving, but was silent. 

Trip set his bowl down and rose to his feet, knees cracking loudly as he approached her. 

"T'Pol?" he reached out a hand and laid it on her shoulder. Whether she just hadn't heard him or there was something else going on, Trip didn't know, but T'Pol spun around in a defensive stance, almost knocking him off balance as he stepped backward. She threw a punch that he only just avoided by throwing himself against the cave wall. "The hell?!" He couldn't read her expression at first, but soon recognition flashed across her features as her eyes went wide.

"Commander," she said. "I...I apologize." She reached a hand out and helped pull him back to his feet.

"What the hell was all that about?" he asked as he rubbed at his neck and shoulders.

"It...it was nothing."

"Yeah, well, my back would tend to disagree with that." Trip said with a grunt as he twisted at the torso and stretched. Somewhere in the fracas he must have tweaked a muscle or something that sent an unfamiliar spasm down his spine.

"Here, let me," T'Pol reached for him, and he tensed warily, backing away slightly. "I can help." Trip narrowed his eyes at her before letting his guard down enough for her to lay one hand on his lower back, near his hip, and another on the opposite shoulder. To his back, she applied pressure, pushing against the aching muscle. To his shoulder, she pulled back, a counter balance to the other movement. At first, her effort made the pain worse, like already sore muscles were being pounded and rearranged by force.

"Breathe," she said.

Trip exhaled sharply, letting go of a breath he had been holding to keep from grunting at her work.

"Inhale. Slowly."

Trip did as she told him and was surprised to feel a warming sensation flow throw him.

"Exhale."

Trip let the breath out just as slowly as he'd pulled it in, and with it, and with it went the last remnants of pain.

"Wow," he said. "That was something else."

"It was a particularly advanced neuropressure position," T'Pol replied. 

Trip thought back, realizing he couldn't remember just when their last neuropressure session had been. He stretched again, enjoying the full range of motion, before turning back to her. She had moved farther away from him and was facing the wall -- her fingers steepled together, held about chest high — and he could just barely make out movement of her lips and hear faint whispers.

A Vulcan prayer? he asked himself. Did Vulcans even pray? It didn't seem like a terribly logical thing to do, but what did he know. Trip fought the urge to interrupt and ask her about it. If it was a prayer, his momma would have grabbed him by the ear and hauled him out to pull weeds for interrupting somebody's time with Jesus. Not that he thought T'Pol was talking to Jesus, exactly -- maybe Surak? -- but the idea was the same.

So, he let her be and instead sat down on a nearby rock. There was something soothing in the sound of her barely there voice, and he leaned back, closed his eyes and let it wash over him, until it stopped, suddenly.

Opening one eye, he glanced in her direction. She was breathing quickly, almost wobbling back and forth on her feet. 

"Hey, you okay?" he asked. She was silent, yet again. He was already moving toward her when she took a step and nearly lost her balance, shoving a hand out into the cave wall for support. He hurried as she tried to move again, showing no more skill at being upright than before. In fact, she might have been showing a little less, because when he reached her, she practically fell into his arms. Her face was soaked with sweat, her eyes wild and glassy.

"What's wrong," he breathed, unable to find more words.

"I need ... I need to meditate," she said, almost as if the words themselves were a struggle. "Help me."

"Okay," he said. "Okay, I gotcha." Carefully but quickly he guided her to the even, smooth patch rock where they'd been eating, and lowered her onto the ground. He didn't know a ton about Vulcan meditation, but he knew she usually had a candle for it. Quickly, he rummaged through the supply packs, hoping maybe Hoshi or even Phlox had had a little foresight, but he came up empty. Trip glanced back to T'Pol. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and she was staring as frantically as one could stare at a patch of wall. God knew what she was seeing. Trip grabbed a communicator.

"Okay, I'm gonna call up to Enterprise. Maybe we take a risk on beaming up-"

"No!" T'Pol pleaded. "No, I know what this is. I just...I just need to meditate. Please, Trip. Help me." Trip glanced around their campsite again. His eyes landed on the pot of beans. Setting aside the rapidly cooling dinner, he picked up the small stove and set its tripod legs up in front of T'Pol. With the twist of a few knobs, a thin blue flame shot up from the stove's center.

"Best I can do," he said. She gazed at the flame for a moment before turning her attention back to him. Already she seemed a little calmer.

"It will suffice," she said before centering her stare on the flame. Trip watched her for a second before turning and moving farther away, not wanting to distract her as she was just beginning to calm down. He sneaked a few glances her way from time. Though she had achieved a motionless concentration, he couldn't forget the look in her eyes when she'd nearly collapsed.

Shaking his head, Trip reached into a supply box, grabbed an item and headed for one of the tunnels.

"Where are you going?" Trip turned back to T'Pol. She had one eye open and was staring accusingly at him from the corner of it.

"To pee, if that's all right with you," he held up the silver biowaste container and waved it in the air, letting a hint of irritation sneak into his voice. It was mostly for show, but it worked. T'Pol nodded her head, almost imperceptibly, and returned her attention to the flame.

Trip walked several meters deeper into the cave, rounded a corner and walked a few more. When he was certain he was out of sight and earshot he pulled the communicator from his pocket.

"Tucker to Enterprise," he said. "Enterprise, come in." He tried a few more times to reach their starship, but all he ever got back was silence. Whether it was for the ion storm or the cave depths, he didn't know, but it was becoming increasingly clear that they really were stuck on this rock all night, and whatever was wrong with T'Pol was just something they'd have to deal with.

When he returned, the flame of the camp stove had been extinguished, and T'Pol sat straight with her back against the wall. Trip joined her, taking a seat and glancing in the box of food. 

"Too bad," he said. "I was kind of hoping for some marshmallows. Maybe stuff for S'mores."

"S'mores?" T'Pol had opened her eyes and was watching him.

"They're a pretty standard campfire dessert," he said. "You roast a marshmallow over the fire and sandwich it between some graham crackers with a few squares of chocolate that gets all melty...ah, you probably wouldn't like it. I don't...I don't think marshmallows are vegetarian?"

"They're not."

"Ah." Trip nodded and drew his finger around the dirt before glancing back up at T'Pol. "You want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"About what? About-" Trip waved his arm around the cave , "about everything that just happened in here."

T'Pol followed the motion of his arm before blinking and speaking again.

"It is a private matter."

Trip stared at her in disbelief before shaking his head and grabbing a PADD from the box. He stretched out and began to flick through it. Maybe Malcolm had downloaded a book or something onto it to help him pass the time. Of course, he wasn't sure he and the stiff upper lip armory officer had a lot in common when it came to fiction.

"Have you ever heard of the pon farr?"

"Hmm?"

"Pon farr."

Trip sat up and set the PADD aside.

"No, what's that?"

"It is ... not something my people talk about. Even the research on it is buried away, available but unadvertised in Vulcan archives."

"What is it?"

She looked at him, and there was something pained in her expression. Like this was the last thing she wanted to talk about. He had just opened her mouth to give her an out -- proclaim it none of his business and return to the PADD -- when she spoke.

"Vulcans aren't like humans," she said, and Trip fought the urge to fire off a jocular 'you're telling me,' as she continued. "Every seven years we are required to...mate."

"Mate?" he repeated, crinkling his brow and sitting up. "What, like a rule? They force you to-"

"No," she said softly. "It's not a rule. It's a biological imperative."

"I don't get it."

"Males and females of my species each produce a particular hormone -- a specific chemical -- that is unique to each sex. Some believe it contributes to our strength or our ability to find logic. It is a very useful thing," she said. "However, we lack the ability to expel it, and as it builds in our systems over time, its benefits are reversed. We become agitated, violent, dangerous or worse as we lose the ability to control our more emotional states. It can even be fatal.

"That sounds pretty terrible," Trip said. "But I don't understand-"

"When combined, the chemicals neutralize each other, ending the pon farr."

"So, what are you saying ... it's your ... time of the decade, or something? Do we need to be rushing you back to Vulcan or something"

"That is a crude but accurate summation of pon farr," T'Pol said. "And no, I would not need to return to Vulcan or a Vulcan ship. As it happens, the chemicals we possess are also found in a wide range of species across the sexes. "

"Huh." Trip said until the implications of her words hit his brain. "Wait a minute, are you saying that you need to..."

"Not necessarily," T'Pol answered, sparing him the awkwardness of completing the thought. "I've heard theories of a synthesized serum that could neutralize the chemical. I imagine Doctor Phlox could produce something with the right information. It's just not actively publicized, both for the privacy measure and because many Vulcans view pon farr as their duty to attempt procreation. " T'Pol fell silent for a moment. “However," she continued, "it will not be time for my pon farr for several more years. That is what makes this so confusing."

"Are you sure that's what it is then?" Trip said. "Couldn't it be something else?" T'Pol shot him a look with raised eyebrow.

"The symptoms of pon farr are not easily mistaken for other things," she said. "They are ... quite distinct."

"What's going to happen?"

"For the moment, the worst is over," T'Pol said. “The initial shock of pon farr overloads our neuropathways, inhibiting our ability to control our emotions, and making us…”

“Weird?”

“Yes. But, with meditation,” T’Pol waved at the cooling stove, “we can regain control.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too bad.”

“The longer we wait to perform the rituals-”

“And by rituals you mean…”

“Copulation.”

“Ah.” 

T’Pol stared at him for a moment, almost willing him to be silent.

“The longer it takes to neutralize the chemical in our bodies, the worse it gets. First, our judgment begins to falter — perhaps as evidenced by the very fact we’re even having this conversation. Then…”

“What?”

T’Pol looked to the ground, and if Trip didn’t know better, he’d say she looked almost shamed.

“We can get very amorous,” she said. “Aggressively so.”

Trip let her words sink in. There was a part of him that wanted to speak up again, Say how it honestly didn’t sound that bad. But her expression, the way she avoided his eyes and struggled for words made him bite his tongue.

“It probably doesn’t sound so bad to you,” T’Pol said. “But for us, the pon farr can be an agonizing experience. And if we do not receive treatment for it within 8 days…”

“What?”

“We die. A slow, painful death full of fear and despair and longing.”

Trip looked away. Nothing about this scenario seemed as lighthearted as it once had.

“Well,” he finally said, “I wouldn’t worry too much. We’ll be out of here way before 8 days are up, and I’m sure Phlox can whip up something to counteract your … your condition.”

“Yes, I’m sure he can, as well. He is quite talented.” T’Pol reached out and flicked the switch on the camp stove. “If you don’t mind commander, I’d like to continue meditating.”

“Yeah, sure.” It was probably the closest thing to a dismissal he’d receive. So he reached back to the PADD, thumbing through its contents. Sure enough, there was a copy of Moby Dick waiting for him. Malcolm probably thought it was a horror story.

Ishmael and Queequeg had just boarded Ahab’s ship when a shuffling sound caught Trip’s attention. When he looked over to T’Pol, he found her sitting against the rock wall with her knees pulled up to her chest. Her breath was raspy and he could see sweat forming at her brow as she rocked ever so slightly back and forth, the camp stove and meditation clearly long forgotten.

“You okay over there?” he asked.

She brought one palm up, fingers stretched out and covered her ear briefly before looking away in the opposite direction.

Trip put the PADD down and moved closer to her. 

“T’Pol,” he reached a hand out to her, but had just barely made contact before she jerked away, hiding her hands underneath her arms and twisting her body away from him.

“The symptoms are getting worse,” she said, her voice shaking with each breath. “I … I don’t understand. It’s moving too quickly.”

"There's got to be something that can help," Trip said.

T’Pol looked at him thoughtfully. And for a moment there was something in her eyes that set him on edge.

"There is something that could relieve some of the pon farr symptoms,” she said, “but it would require your assistance."

"Ehrm, I don't know T'Pol..." Trip stammered. T'Pol shook her head at him before his imagination ran too wild.

"In my culture, for my people, yes it's a very intimate thing," she said. "For your people, it means very little."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Tucker narrowed his eyes at her, searching for truth in them. He wasn't sure exactly what he saw as she stared back at him, but it wasn't deception.

"Okay," he said. "What can I do?" 

T'Pol reached out, grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him down next to her. She grabbed his wrist and raised his hand about chest high. She brought her other hand to his, running her fingers -- more like guiding his -- down each digit, and up the side of her palm. She laced her fingers between his and traversed the length up and down. Her eyes fluttered closed and when her hand stopped moving, he picked up where she had left off. A gentle caress of their index fingers produced a deep heaved sigh that made her chest rise and fall with a contented sigh.

As her body relaxed, her eyes drifted closed and it wasn’t long before her hand lowered to the ground. He followed at first, keeping the contact as his fingers gently slid over hers. But as the stress of the day began to fade and and a sense of calm came over T’Pol, Trip’s eyes grew heavy and his hand slipped from hers.


	2. Chapter 2

Trip must have dozed off. He was in that dreamspace where things feel real, but there's a part of the brain that knows they aren't. Like, he was pretty sure he wasn't sitting against a tree in the back woods behind the house with half a sandwich in his hand and Beezle, the family retreiver, licking peanut butter off his cheek. But it sure seemed real. 

A hand slid up his thigh.

Trip's eyes snapped open, and he was back in a cave on Besniq V as a storm raged outside. T'Pol left no room between them as she nibbled his ear and peppered kisses down his neck. For a moment,the feel of her lips was intoxicating, but as her hand continued north, settling between his legs, he shook off the fog of sleep and pushed her away.

"What the hell are you doing?" he snapped.

T'Pol sat back on her haunches. She ran her hands across her face and through her hair before wrapping her arms tightly together.

"I apologize," she said. Her voice was thick with desire. "But I need this-"

"You said Vulcans could go for days before real problems-"

"I can feel it happening faster!" she yelled. "I told you that! You don't understand what it's like! These feelings, I can't control..." her voice trailed off as she dipped her head down. She laced her fingers behind her neck and sat there, shaking.

"Look, T'Pol-"

"Do you want me to die?!" she cried. She looked up at him, and Trip could see tears streaming down her face. He could hear her fear. Not just fear that he didn't want to help her. Fear that he actively wanted her dead, and he could see where in this state she might have that impression. The last time they were trapped in a cave together, he did have a phase pistol pointed at her head. But that was so long ago and the idea that it was still there in the back of her mind broke a little something in his heart.

"No," he said. "No, I don't want you to die."

"Then help me." She flung a leg over him -- she moved too quickly for him to stop her -- and was on his lap, her breath tickling his ear as she whispered to him. She wiped the tears away and her demeanor changed from that of trapped animal to a bird of prey.

"Don't you want me?" she breathed. Her hand slid down his chest and landed at his waist. She laid her hand on him. "Don't deny it," she said as she rubbed against him. "I can feel that you do."

"Not like this," he said between heavy breaths. "Not when it's not you."

"It is me," she said. Her lips pressed against his cheek. "It is me, Trip." Her tongue flicked in his ear and made him melt. She backed off, still straddling him, and grabbed both of his hands, running them up her sides, bringing them to the hem of her shirt and finally under, until they reached her cool, pale skin. She shivered beneath his touch, stretched, and he could feel the curves of her ribs and her body. With his hands beneath her shirt, she leaned forward and brought her lips to his. A tiny voice in the back of his brain whispered about how wrong it all was. They shouldn't be doing this. 

But for being wrong, it sure felt right.

He opened himself to her, and she devoured him in a deep kiss that didn't end as she ground her hips into him. He groaned as his erection grew harder, and her hands went to the zipper of his jumpsuit, sliding it down until she could reach inside and wrap her arms around him while he freed his arms from its sleeves. She pulled the suit down just enough as his hands went to her waist, grasping at the fabric of her trousers. 

They disrobed just enough to join. She stroked him gently, caressing his tip, sliding along his shaft until he was ready for her. Then she was on him. A sound from deep within her echoed through the cave as she buried him in wet warmth. His hands began at her hips, offering support, but she didn't him for that. No, she rode him with a balance and a grace that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. So he let his hands wander. Travel up her body, across her shoulders and arms until finally he reached her hands again.

Softly, he ran the pad of his thumb down her index finger. Her entire body shivered. And when he laced his fingers between hers, sliding up and down her soft skin, she whimpered, pitching her body forward until his face was nestled at her breast. She dropped his hands and held him tight, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Her mouth smeared across his forehead as she thrusted against him. He felt the jagged edge of a tooth at his temple, but mostly he heard her, crying out in deep, soulful moans until her body clenched around him and a gurgling whine that pinched itself into silence before ejecting a deep contented sigh as she relaxed.

He never would have thought the most erotic moment of his life to date would have come at the hips of a Vulcan, but there it was. It was all he could do to breathe as her body stilled against his.

Regaining some composure, she leaned back to look at him. Measure his face.

"Did you..." 

He shook his head. 

"Not yet." The words themselves sent quivers down his spine. He was very close.

She leaned forward again, moved against him, but she was slower than before. Less frantic. It took a moment for him to recognize that it wasn't disinterest, it was fatigue. Gently, he nudged forward. It didn't take much prompting to get her to maneuver backward, shifting their bodies until her back was flat on the surface and he was able to lean over her. 

She gasped as he pushed into her. Every breath came raggedly in time with his. He couldn't keep his hands off her. She bit her lip as he traveled under her shirt, gently massaging a breast. She whimpered as he traced her ear from curve to point and back again. And when his hand returned to hers, when the tips of their fingers met in a slow caress, she cried out a string of words in Vulcan that he didn't know -- that he'd probably never know -- but the rise and fall of her voice turned the strange words to music in his ears. He pushed into her harder and faster until he came with a groan that she buried in a deep kiss, both of her hands now holding his face, gripping at his hair, sliding down his neck, his back and holding him close until he finished with a final shudder. 

When it was over, he rolled off of her. It didn't take either of them long to put themselves back together. He had just shrugged into the top half of his jumpsuit and raised the zipper to sternum height when he heard her open one of their bags of supplies. A familiar pop filled the air and he wasn't surprised to see her sitting against the cave wall -- not far from where they'd started -- with a travel pack of water.

She took a long drink before holding the bag out to him in offering. As he approached, Trip found his eyes drawn to the tiny drops of water that clung to her lips, threatening to dribble down her chin. He quickly looked away and wondered if she had noticed his gaze before she ran the back of her hand across her mouth.

He sat down next to her and took a drink before handing the water back. Their fingers brushed briefly, but not with the same electricity that had come before. For a moment they sat in silence, shoulder to shoulder, both staring straight ahead at nothing. T'Pol spoke first.

"Do we need to speak about this?"

"No, nope. Not at all," Trip said and the words were half out of his mouth before he realized they were probably all together too fast. "Unless, uh. Unless you want to talk to about it?"

"I don't require it, no," she replied in that entirely disaffected Vulcan tone that unnnerved him 90 percent of the time. And this was not one of the other 10 percent. For a moment he just stared at her, questions roiling in the back of his head.

"Was it...I mean, did..."

"It was satisfactory."

"Satisfactory?!" The word caught him off guard. He was no Don Juan, but he'd been with a few ladies in his time -- and a fella his sophomore year at the academy, not to mention a princess on an alien planet -- and he'd like to think they all remembered him as something a little better than _satisfactory_. He snorted softly and shook his head before speaking again. "But you're all right now?" he said. "You're not dying or anything?"

"I appear to no longer be experiencing the effects of the pon farr," T'Pol answered.

"Well," Trip said, unable to mask the bitterness in his voice. "At least that's something. Tell you're friends -- 'Commander Charles Tucker: It may not be pretty, but he'll get the job done.' "

"Trip." T'Pol's interjection stopped Trip's diatribe in its tracks. He could count on one hand the number of times she'd used his first name -- and he would barely have needed any fingers to do it. But now that'd she'd spoken, there was an unease that hung palpably in the air before she continued, staring at the ground in front of her. "It was also...satisfying." He let the words hang there for a moment, contemplating them.

"Satisfying?"

"Extremely." T'Pol let out a little cough -- dust in the air, no doubt -- and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. And if Trip didn't know better, he could have sworn he saw a faint tinge of green at her cheeks, flushing around the the point of her ear. He smiled ever so slightly before looking away, repeating the word silently to himself. Satisfying. For a Vulcan, he realized, that was probably really saying something.

They sat in silence for a moment, listening as the wind whipped past the cave mouth. Trip looked up at the ceiling. He couldn't see it, but he knew Enterprise was up there, holding steady in the night sky. When he looked back to T'Pol, she was staring aimlessly -- perhaps meditatively -- at her hands. Dirt was smeared across parts of her shirt, and he didn't figure he was any better off.

"Do you think they'll know?" he said. "That we uh, you know. I mean, we've got food and water and camp gear, but they didn't actually send down a change of clothes, you know?" T'Pol looked thoughtful for a second before turning to him.

"Dr. Phlox most certainly will detect the signs while we're in decon," she said finally. "But I don't believe he would share that information with anyone. As for our clothing, we are in a cave."

"That's a good point. Very logical," he said.

"Thank you."

Trip continued to watch her from the corner of his eye. He didn't know why he was doing it, his gaze just felt oddly drawn to her. And it was either that or rock formations. He watched as she rubbed her arms and breathed into her hands.

"You cold?"

"A little."

It was getting chilly, Trip realized and he reached out with his foot and snagged the strap to one of their supply bags, pulling it close. Inside were two sleeping bags, and he pulled one out as he stood and draped it over her. The second, he wrapped around himself like a cloak before sitting down next to her again.  
"Our scans indicate the temperature should drop to subzero levels," she said. "We would be wise to share."

"You know, if you want to cuddle, T'Pol, all you have to do ask," Trip said with a teasing smile.

"I am merely suggesting that combining our body heat would-"

"I know what you mean," Trip said as he flung open his bag, unable to hold back a laugh. T'Pol was almost as easy a mark as Malcolm. "Climb in."

T'Pol scooted closer to Trip, until his sleeping bag was at her back and under her body, one edge wrapping around her shoulder. She tossed the edge of her bag over him and leaned in until they were both snugly contained in the insulated wrapping. Her body pressed tightly against his side. Her head rested on his chest, as his arm wrapped almost protectively around her shoulders.

And indeed it was warm, and it was cozy, and together they drifted off to sleep with the wind howling in the night around them.


	3. Chapter 3

Trip woke slowly. His back was stiff and there was a crink in his neck, but the things that caught his attention the most were the slender fingers running through the hair at his temple.

"Whatcha doin?" he yawned sleepily as he shifted his body to better face T'Pol. There was a part of him as they fell asleep that thought waking up with her would have been awkward, but this was anything but as she stroked his head. It actually made him feel kind of like a cat. A big contented house cat. The thought made him smile. "Come on, what's up?" he said.

"Your hair," she answered. "I never noticed gray in it before."

"Come on," Trip said with a laugh as he stretched his arms. She just stared at him with her brow furrowed slightly, and Trip could feel his smile begin to waver. "Are you ... are you serious?"

T'Pol nodded and Trip flung the sleeping bag off himself and pulled the supply bag closer. He rooted around in it -- tossing food packs and lanterns and some cleansing wipes that would have been helpful earlier -- until he came to a small shave kit. Popping the lid, he looked in its small mirror. Sure enough, gray hair had begun to creep through his temples and down his sideburns. His stubble even had a few that he could spot, and if he squinted just right he could see crow's feet at the corners of his eyes that he knew hadn't been there the day before.

"What the hell's this?" he said, turning to face T'Pol. "Is this some sort of weird Vulcan mating thing? You get laid and I get old?"

"This is not any Vulcan 'thing' I've ever heard of," she said. "The science directorate has studied human/Vulcan copulation and found no such-"

"Wait, wait. Your scientists don't have anything better to do than-"

"It's a valid segment of research," T'Pol said. "It's how we learned human sex fluids were compat-"

"WHOA," Trip yelled "I don't need all the details on your ... whatever."

"I'm merely trying to explain-" T'Pol's voice was cut off by the beeping of one of their communicators. Trip found the piece of tech and flipped it open.

"Mornin'!" Archer's voice exclaimed cheerily from the small speaker. "How's it going down there on this sunny Besniq V morning?"

"Uh, we got a little problem down here, Cap'n" Trip replied. Archer's tone immediately shifted.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Uh, well...I mean we're not hurt, but you might want to send a shuttle down for us and clear the way to decon just in case."

"On it. You guys hang in down there."

* * *

  
Trip and T'Pol sat in Phlox's office. Trip thought he'd been in every square inch of Enterprise, but the small room with the frosted sliding glass door nestled in a corner of sickbay was one he'd never really noticed. Could use an upgrade, he thought. The room was barely big enough for the desk and two patient chairs they were sitting in. He checked the clock again.

They'd been back on board Enterprise for nearly four hours, and made it through decon with barely a blip. 

"Nothing at all harmful or contagious came up with them," Phlox had said.

"Then why does my chief engineer look like he's aged 10 years in about 10 hours?!" The captain replied, and Trip didn't need the small intercom speaker to hear it.

"Well...that will take some more study, but I assure you, Captain, your ship is safe, and I will take excellent care of T'Pol and Commander Tucker while we get this figured out. But I will need them to stay in sickbay for tests and observation."

And so there they'd been. They went through the imaging chamber, were scanned with tricorders, had lights shone into their eyes; Phlox even broke out a tiny rubber mallet to do manual testing of their reflexes. He'd just sat down to discuss his findings -- something about accelerating the aging process at the cellular level; Trip didn't really understand it, he just needed to know if it was permanent -- when four MACOs stormed into sickbay, two practically dragging the others who looked more than a little worse wear. One's nose was bashed and bloody, bent in a couple directions that didn't seem right, and Trip couldn't help but wince at the one whose shoulder stuck up at an odd angle, clearly dislocated to a pretty serious degree. A sparring incident, they'd said.

That was when Phlox had ushered them into this room.

When the sliding door opened again, Trip could hear a member of Phlox's staff talking in comforting tones to one of the MACOs.

"Now just try to relax," she said. "Take a deep breath, and one, two-" where there should have been a "three" Trip instead hear a loud crunch of bone moving against bone. The MACO's painful wail disappeared into nothingness as Phlox closed the door behind him and sat down at the small desk.

"Everything all right out there?" Trip asked.

"Oh, yes, nothing to be alarmed over," Phlox said. "Now let's talk about you. As I said earlier, the rate of cellular-"

"Is it reversible, Doc," Trip interrupted. "All I need to know."

"Absolutely! You can't see it yet, but your cells have already begun to revert, and your physical appearance should follow suit. My calculations approximate you both aged about one year for every two hours exposed to the planet, and it should take about that time for everything to return to normal. By days' end, you should both be fine."

Well, that didn't sound too bad. Trip cocked his head, and ran some mental math before speaking again. 

"Hold on a sec," he said. "Are you saying this," he waved his hand around his face "is what I'm going to look like in...nine and a half years?"

"Not necessarily," Phlox said. "There are any number of environmental factors and stresses that could contribute to your future appearance, but I wouldn't worry commander, you're still a very handsome man, and I’ve every confidence that when you reach this age in you're own time you'll still be full of vim and vigor!" Phlox offered a deep, genuine smile that might have been comforting if it were directed at anyone else.

"Yeah, well, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to get back to looking like myself again. Can we go?"

Trip was halfway out of his seat when Phlox held up a finger and tutted at them.

"Not so fast, commander, I do have another matter to discuss with you both." 

Trip slowly sat back down in his seat. Phlox looked mildly uncomfortable, and that didn't do much for his own comfort levels.

"Normally, it would not be my business," Phlox began, "but given your current exposure to an alien planet, I'm afraid I need all the information. Now, it appears from the medical scans that there was a...shall we say an intimate encounter...while you were down there."

"Now look, Phlox, what two people do-"

"I was experiencing the pon farr," T'Pol interrupted. "Our 'encounter' as you put it was the equivalent of a medical procedure to save my life."  
"I'm not judging," Phlox said, hands raised in the air. "As I said, it's not generally my business until someone wishes to make it my business. But given the unique nature of your…coupling…and the, let's be honest, not terribly hygienic site,I've prepared a broad-spectrum prescription just in case any unforseen complications arise."

"Well, apparently you should just ask Vulcan High Command. It's a topic of great interest."

There was a tension in the room. Phlox looked down at his PADD, coughed once and addressed Trip. 

"Commander, a member of my staff can administer the hypospray," he said. "One dose and you should be fine to return to work, though I think the captain suggested taking the rest of the day to recuperate."

"Great!" Trip said as he rose.

"If you could," Phlox said as he made for the door, "Keep an eye on yourself. If you experience any unusual symptoms, report back to me immediately."

"Will do, thanks doc" Trip tossed over his shoulder as he left.

T'Pol nodded at Phlox and went to rise, herself.

"Thank you, doctor," 

"Commander, I'm not quite done with you," Phlox interrupted. T'Pol cocked her head and settle back into her chair. "There's another matter we should discuss."


	4. Chapter 4

Trip was halfway back to his quarters when he decided to detour to engineering. He was still feeling a little unsettled, and a check of the engines always put his mind back at ease. When he entered the engine room, the hum of the warp drive sent a calming sensation down his back, and his eyes closed as he let the feeling wash over him.

A bang snapped him from his reverie, and he opened his eyes to see Rostoff raise his hand and smack it again against the side of a display.

"Rostoff! What are you doing to my engine?" he barked.

"Just a love tap, sir," he answered, turning to face Trip. "Or should I say 'Old Man'?"

"Ha. Ha." Trip said as he reached a beneath the monitor and fussed with a dial until the readouts Rostoff had been trying to study cleared up. "And don't get used it. All of this," he waved a hand around his newly graying hair "is only temporary."

"Too bad," a woman's voice called from the catwalks. "Makes you look distinguished!"

"Taylor, what are you doing up there?" he called out as she made her way down the ladder and to their level.

"Somebody's got to keep this boat flying when the boss goes on a camping trip," she said cheerfully, and Tucker couldn't help but smile as his team filled him in on everything he'd missed while he was planetside.

When Trip left engineering, his heart was lighter. He was almost to his quarters when he ran into T'Pol arriving at hers.

"You just now getting back from sickbay?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Phlox had another matter to discuss." 

"Everything all right?" Trip knew T'Pol would never admit it -- or try to brush it off as not having enough time to meditate -- but he could tell even before the pon farr debacle that her emotions had been brewing near the surface, maybe from the weight of their mission, maybe from something else, but she was struggling. And more than anything, he realized, for all the lip and attitude he'd been giving since they got back on board Enterprise, he just wanted to be there for her.

She opened the door to her quarters and ushered him inside. 

"Doctor Phlox advised I take an emergency contraceptive," she said once the door closed.

"A contraceptive? I thought Vulcans and humans couldn't..."

"They can't," T'Pol said "Not as far as Vulcan HIgh Command is concerned. But..."

"But?"

"It occurred to me that if the High Command was wrong about time travel, then perhaps they were also mistaken about this."

Trip's eyes went wide and he breathed deeply through his nose before wiping at his mouth.

"And you didn't think to tell me this before you....before we..."

"I was in the throes on the pon farr," she said, and there was something almost harsh in her voice. "And you certainly didn't have to-"

"I was just sitting there! You're the one who climbed me like a tree!"

"Well, you didn't seem very concerned about potential pregnancies at the time, either!"

Her outburst stunned them both into silence.

"I'm sorry,” she said quietly. Not an 'I apologize' but an actual "I'm sorry." Some how, those two words were enough to put everything into perspective for him.

"Don't be," he said finally. "It's not my business, and I was way out of line. I'm glad your okay." 

"Trip." His hand was on the button to open the door when he felt her fingers curl around his, guiding him around to face her. One hand went to the side of his face, and without even thinking about it, his eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into her caress. She moved closer, her body pressing lightly against his as she rose up slightly on her toes and pressed her lips to his opposite cheek, right near his ear. 

'"Thank you for helping me," she whispered.

In that moment -- that chaste little kiss on the cheek -- Trip had never felt more connected to anyone in his life. He'd never felt more at peace. Her fingers ruffled through his hair and her head cocked to one side.

"Your hair is returning to normal," she whispered. 

"Is it?"

"The transformation is quite stunning," she said. "You should look."

"I'm good," he said. His eyes never left hers as he reached for her hand. When he held both of her hands in his, he brought them to his face, leaving a gentle kiss at her fingertips. They moved, almost as if some mystical force drew them closer until their lips met.

There was no frantic rush to it. No adrenaline coursing through his veins. No fighting voice in the back of his head. This time, there was only contentment. A sense of rightness and beauty and perfection.

But they’d been here before. Maybe not right here like this, and certainly not as they had been in the cave on Besniq V, but it was starting to feel like they’d spent years on Enterprise — growing closer, inching toward some form of relationship only to back away, bicker over this or that and do it all again, over and over.

T'Pol broke the kiss first, touching his forehead with her own before stepping back.

"Do we need to speak about this?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think we do."

"I agree."

But as they moved closer to one another again, as their arms wrapped around each other in embrace and their lips met once more, they both knew there'd be plenty of time for talking later.


End file.
